Stupid Sherlock!
by Lolita Key
Summary: Sherlock spills coffee on his shirt and John just can't admit his feelings... or can he? Slight slash (John/Sherlock)
1. Missing shirt

This is my very first fan fiction, I would be very happy about reviews, good or bad:)

Disclamer: I do not own any of the characters.

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"John, hand me my phone."

John sight: "Where is it?"

"In my pocket." Said Sherlock.

"What?"

"In. My. Pocket! In my pants, did you not hear me?"

"Yes, I did, I just…" Sherlock interrupted: Bored! Get me my phone!"

For a split second John glared at his companion, then he went across the room to the big sofa, where Sherlock lied, massaging his underarm, which was taped with three nikotinpatches. THREE! He reached into his friends pocket, for a split second he felt the warmth of Sherlocks waist, his puls slightly rose. He grabbed the phone as fast as he could and placed it into the hand, that was hanging above him, waiting for it.

"You are very welcome Sherlock!" John said in a grumpy voice. Sherlock looked at his friend, bewildered, then he faced his phone again. John shook his head and grabbed his laptop to continue writing his blog. "Shut up!" It suddenly came from the sofa. "I did not say anything!" John cried annoyed. "You're thinking, it's annoying!" Without looking at the sociopath John went out of the room and climbed up the stairs to his tiny bedroom, not without given Sherlock one last look. Why on earth did he move in with this antisocial loner? But the thought of not seeing him daily brought a sudden chill upon him. Live would go back to being lonesome and depressed. Sherlock had brought the adventures, the thrilling danger of London back into his life, he owed this man!

He had not reached his room when he heard a childish shout: "John, come back here!" John could not help but smile, he turned around to walk down the stairs again: "What is it Sherlock?" He opened the door to the living room, what he saw was Sherlock, crawling around the floor. But what struck John, was, that the tall skinny man was top naked.

"What on earth… Sherlock put your shirt back on!" "I'M trying to find one! Spilled coffee on the one I was wearing." He stood straight and faced John. John tried not to stare at the pale skin, that treated over his muscles. He felt his breathing go slightly stiff. Stupid, stupid Sherlock! Why did he have to spill coffee on his shirt?

"Help me find some cloth, will you?"

Happy to have an excuse to turn his gaze away from Sherlock, he began searching for another shirt in the extremely messy living room. He saw a deep purple shirt hanging behind the oven, it seemed reasonably clean. "Found one." He said relieved. Sherlock came across the room and took the shirt that John offered him. The small mans hand touched the taller ones for a split second.

Hours later, Johns Johns hand still tingled like he had touched something electrically charged. He knew what it meant, oh he knew it too well but he could not face it. Not yet anyways.

Mrs. Hudson had prepared a delicious dinner for the two men but John could not eat, he did not feel hungry. At least not for food.

They did not talk much, and there occurred to be a certain tension between them. "John, what is it?" Sherlock finally asked. John's head rose: "What do you mean?" He said more aggressive, than he meant to. "Something is not right with you. You behave… strange!" "No I don't!" Responded John, but could not look into his companions eyes.

If John had looked up, he would have seen the concerned Look on Sherlocks face.

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Hope you enjoyed it! If not, please tell me what you did not like!


	2. Drugs and touch

The first thing John noticed, when he entered the small flat was his companion, passed out on the couch. He sighed, shook his head and watched the pale, tired face. Sherlock had not been sleeping for day's on end because the two had been working on a challenging case but that usually did not exhaust Sherlock this much! Concerned, John came closer, when he stood only a few feet away from the passed out body, he noticed the syringe, that was laying on the coffee-table. "That explains a lot!" John admonished his friend: "You know you're not supposed to use this stuff! If Lestrade finds it, he will have to arrest you and by the way it makes you a horrible person, you always get so weepy when you take drugs!"

John stared at his friend for a moment, as if he expected an answer, than he took one of the wooly blankets from the big armchair, wrapped it around Sherlocks body and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner for himself. He opened the fridge and trying to ignore the bag of eyes, he took out the leftovers from two days ago, they looked more or less eatable.

A few hours later, John had just finished the dishes and cleaned up some of the mess in the kitchen, that Sherlock had made during their investigation, there wasn't much he wouldn't do for his friend! In return, Sherlock kept Johns depressing thoughts away with their investigations and adventures in the heart of London… with his beautiful laugh and his crazy ideas, he craved to know how these hands felt on… "No!" John said out loud to stop these thoughts!

"Whaddidyousaay?!"

John jumped, startled, as he heard a voice from the living room.

"Are you awake Sherlock?" He shouted.

"Yep, never more so!"

When John reentered the living room to check on Sherlock, the handsome man was unbuttoning his purple shirt.

"Sherlock why are you undressing?" Johns voice was slightly more annoyed, than he intended to.

"The shirt is weaty… aaaaah I mean sewaty!" But he could not quite open the last few buttons, because his fingers were shaking. If John was only able deduce Sherlocks mind, he would have known that it was not only because of the after-effect of the drugs.

"Come on boy!" The solider said in a fatherly voice, went over to Sherlock and helped him unbutton the last three buttons, with every button his own hands started to shake more, and Sherlocks muscles got stiffer but both men tried to ignore the obvious tension between them.

John pushed his friend back onto the sofa, careful to not touch too much of the pale soft skin on his chest. "You should sleep a little more!" The fact, that he did not complain proofed the weakened state the detective was in. Sherlock fell asleep the next moment, and John sat there. He just sat there and watched the mans beautiful face, these dark curls that built a perfect frame around the fine face, fine but also slightly odd. Then Johns gaze wandered down Sherlocks body, his oh so perfect body: the white skin stretched beautifully over these prominent collarbones, and then Sherlocks chest… how would it feel, to touch his chest? A burning desire suddenly filled him, made his fingertips tingle and then, with out John being able to stop himself, his hand stretched out and carefully touched Sherlocks chest, John had never felt such an urge to be close to someone, to touch someone. Sure it had been nice to wrap his arms around Janettes fragile body but he had always done it to please her, but now he felt like the only thing that could fill the emptiness in his body, his heart was touching Sherlocks smooth body, being closer to him than he ever had. And so John quietly laid down next to his friend and closed his eyes.


	3. broken and empty

Waking up

Part 1

When John woke up, he was cold, very cold. Freezing! He opened his eyes and with a shallow feeling in his chest he realized, that he was the only one occupying the dingy couch. Well at least there would not be the whole awkward waking up scene.

Johns neck hurt, his muscles felt stiff and overstretched and a sour smell of sweat surrounded him. Slowly and with sagging sagging shoulders he walked into the bathroom to take a shower. The warm water could not quite fill the cold, empty space in his heart. In the air laid a hint of Sherlocks musky scent. Usually it made John feel safe, but today he was only filled with… nothing. He was empty.

When John entered the kitchen to grab some water, the tall man sat in front of a microscope. The mere sight of him, sitting there, balanced and relaxed made John so angry and suddenly he was filled with hate. Hate for the mess Sherlock had made, hate for the big pile of dirty dishes next to the sink but mainly hate for the perfect, beautiful, autistic man in front of him.

John started doing the dishes as if they were the cause for all his his anger. He tossed the clean plates aside and when one slid off the sink and burst on the ground, Sherlock stood up and turned around: "John do you need to do this now? I am working!"

John felt like something inside him burst and he screamed: "Well someone needs to do these damn dishes Sherlock!"

Sherlock turned around and sat down again: "Do them later!" He mumbled.

With out cleaning up the mess he had made, John left the 221B Bakerstreet.

When John returned from strolling through the dark, cold streets of the heart of London, Sherlock was gone and the mess was still there. The mess in the kitchen, the shattered plate on the floor, the stinking chemicals on the table, the used syringes still lay on the covetable. John took them and in a helpless movement threw it against the wall.

He fell onto the couch, the couch that only yesterday had fulfilled all of his deepest and darkest desires… or well most of them, but suddenly all the anger, that had filled him since he woke up, vanished and all he felt was broken. Broken and weak.

"John…" Sherlocks voice was very gentle but also a bit lost. John sighed but did not respond.

"John what is wrong with you?" This was such an untypical question for Sherlock to ask, that John actually turned around to face his friend. The sight of the big child in front of him suddenly brought a gentle feeling upon him. He looked so helpless, trying to analyze his friends emotion but that was the one thing Sherlock was not good at: analyzing emotions if they were not obvious through dilated pupils or a raised pulse.

A soft smile laid upon Johns face: "Nothing Sherlock. It's all good"

The tall latter returned the smile, and it looked slightly forced, just as alway.

"Good! Because we have a new case!"

Yes, it was all good…. for now.

Part 2

"Here you go Sherlock, black and two sugar, right?" Lestrade handed Sherlock a coffee, Sherlock did not react but continued staring at the DNA sample in front of him so the inspector just sighed and placed the coffee on the desk next to his consulting detective.

Ten minutes later, Sherlock had not touched his coffee and was still staring at the sample. Lestrade started tapping his foot on the floor, which usually annoyed Sherlock very, very much! No reaction. Lestrade tried to think as much as he could.

_Hmmm… what could Sherlock be seeing what I don't?_

_Maybe he sees a whole story, maybe he also sees nothing and just tries to show off anyways!_

_What else do I have to think to annoy him?_

_Come on Sherlock! It's been 15 minutes, what have you got so far!_

Also not helping.

"Sherlock, what…" Lestrade started but the detective interrupted: "Not now Lestrade, I'm busy!"

"Busy? You've been staring at that bloody thing for eighteen minutes!"

"Seventeen."

"What?" Lestrade asked, perplexed.

"Seventeen minutes!"

"Smart ass!" Lestrade replied and left his office. The guy was even weirder than he usually was! Maybe because his babysitter was away. He chuckled about his joke. John had gone off to god knows where for a few days, he had told Sherlock he was visiting his sister, as her alcohol problem had gotten worse but to Lestrade he had confided, that he needed a brake from Sherlock. _Understandable_! Lestrade thought! He himself could not be in a room with Sherlock for longer than a few hours! The man was a complete psychopath, on no sorry, sociopath! How Sherlock had always corrected him, when he had called him a psychopath.

Lestrade walked into Anderson's office, just to check on his sniffer dog. "Have ya got anything for me?"

Anderson and Donovan sat at Andersons desk. No, hay sat ON the desk! Arms wrapped around each other but both looking at their boss in shock. For a few seconds the three just stared at each other, not being able to move or react in any way, then Lestrade turned around and walked out. Still in shock he retuned to his own office to sit down for a moment but his chair was occupied, the worlds only consulting detective sat on it, feet on his desk: "And were you surprised when you walked into the two? You seem rather… shocked!"

Lestrade sighed: "What a crazy day!"


	4. Decaf, anyone?

Hello :) If anyone is still reading this story: so sorry it took me so long to write this chapter but I had a really exhausting few weeks in school… I would really love it if you guys could tell me something: do you want this to be a sweet romantic story or more a sexy hot story? Please tell me in the reviews because I can't decide :/Would be great if you could help me!

Ps: This chapter isn't ment to offend anyone who drinks decaf, I just used a prejudice to make a joke :)

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John slowly lead his key into the front door of 221B Backerstreet. He took a deep breath and turned the key around. The door swung open and a familiar smell welcomed him. His stomach prickled a little, he hadn't been in here for three weeks.

He made the first step into the hallway and could not help but smile: He was home again!

When he entered the flat, it seemed to be empty but when he shut the door, he heard a voice from the kitchen: "You were gone rather long!" It didn't sound complaining, more like a simple statement. "Surprised you even noticed I was gone!" John smiled.

"Yes… Well there was no food in the fridge."

"Since when do you need food?"

"I didn't."

"So why would you notice there was no food?"

"Experiment."

John just stood there, bemused. He wasn't sure if he had missed these conversations… well maybe he did.

He checked in on Sherlock in the kitchen, he and it seemed reasonably cleaned up, which was probably not Sherlocks but Mrs. Hudsons earning. John noticed, that even the broken plate on the floor was gone.

After he unpacked, he decided it was time to shop for some food, he went downstairs and wanted to leave but Sherlock shouted: "Can you bring me some decaf-coffee from the shop?"

"Decaf, sure. Did you become a hipster while I was gone?"

"Experiment!" Sherlock shouted.

"Yeah right, did you grow a beard too?"

Sherlock only growled. John chuckled.

John carried the heavy shopping bags into the kitchen, where Sherlock was still sitting, probably thinking.

"Here is your decaf, also bought you some low-fat milk to go with it."

Sherlock gave his companion a forced, ironic smile and John snorted: "Don't do that! Doesn't suit you!"

When he put the coffee in front of Sherlock, his arm lightly brushed the detectives shoulder but Johns heart did not skip a beat… no indeed not even a little one!

"Thank you John." Sherlock said in a surprisingly gentle voice and Johns stomach did not twitch a single bit. He also did not feel the urge to lean down and gently but his head on Sherlocks hair, he also didn't want to wrap his arms around the tall mans shoulders.

A tiny smile made its way onto Johns lips, it did feel good to be home again.

The doorbell rang and John shrugged.

"That's your friend, John." Sherlock said.

John furrowed his brows and went to open the door. In front of him stood Lestrade.

"John, finally! You're back, missed ya man!" And he embraced John wildly. "Your buddy here stared to get a little weird… well a little more than his usual weird!" He laughed while he went into the kitchen: "Hey mr. Detective, ya got anything for me?"

Sherlock did not respond.

"Guess that means not?" Lestrade walked towards Sherlock to check what he was working on.

"Of corse I do." Sherlock said with clenched teeth.

"Oh great, what ya got?"

"Wrong." Sherlocks voice sounded bored.

"What's wrong?"

"Your theory. Wrong!"

John chuckled: "Greg, you want some coffee?" John said, "We also got decaf!" He added when he noticed Lestrades nervously trembling hand on the kitchentable.

"Oh no… no I'm good, thanks John! Need to get that case done, might bring me a promotion!" Lestrade winked at John.

"You mean I need to get that case done." Sherlock said in a dry voice.

"Yeah… well… There is nothing wrong with getting some help… right?"

John shrugged his shoulders, while he handed Lestrade a chamomile-tee.

The doctor left the room, as the inspector desperately tried to get some new information about his case out of the detective, he felt tired from his trip home this morning, so he went upstairs to lay down for a while. When he closed his eyes, he did not dream.

He did not dream about Sherlocks beautiful face, his dark, somewhat weird looking lips. He did not dream, how Sherlock leaned down to him and pressed a light kiss on Johns lips. And he also did not dream, how he pulled Sherlock closer towards him, how he answered his kiss, opened the dark mans lips with his own, how he touched his black curls, how his big, strong hands surrounded Johns face, seeking for shelter. No, indeed he did not dream.


End file.
